


marbles on glass

by Anonymous



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn’t even have to touch you to bewitch you. There was no poison on her lips nor magic spell whispered under her breath. She didn’t touch you, you do not know what her lips taste like and yet you feel her buzzing under your skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	marbles on glass

One would think you know everything about running away. You’ve been doing it all your life: locked in your ancient new blue box, travelling through time and space, chasing ghosts and observing stars, escaping everything you’ve left behind. It’s not easy, but over the time it has become a part of you – a man without a family, a man with no past, a man without home. Escaping from prisons, escaping from certain death, escaping from monsters and danger.

Yet, somehow, you could never escape from her.

(Not that you haven’t tried. You have. But no matter how fast you’ve run, she was always there with you – if not in person, then in the back of your mind. You just could not get rid of her.)

___

She forced her way into your life. She appeared unannounced, unwelcome and unwanted. She appeared out of nowhere and demanded a place in your life – and she seemed to think that she deserved that place. But that wasn’t all, oh no. She seemed to hold a certain affection for you. You’re not blind nor stupid - you saw the love burning in her eyes: blinding, bright and hot. You did not want that, you knew you did not deserve that: you didn’t deserve to be loved and adored, not by her. Not by anyone.

You wanted that look gone from her eyes, you wanted the fire to stop burning, you wanted her to turn away and forget you. Funny enough, you managed to dim the warm glow in her eyes.

All it took was one question.

_Who are you?_

___

And then she died, burning up in the flames of her love for you. She died, whispering promises of love and future, quiet words of joy and happiness. You didn’t believe her words – or you just didnn’t want to believe them. And quite frankly you were also a bit scared of them. How could she love you so much? Why would she?

(Her eyes hid secrets that another you might want to explore and understand. But not you, not right now. _Not just yet_. Maybe not ever.)

That night you feel a ghost touch of well-worn leather of her diary in your hand and her voice echoes in your head.

_‘Not one line, don’t you dare.’_

___

You have a new face, a brand new TARDIS and a new companion.

Time to leave ghost of your past behind you, right?

A fresh start.

A fresh start without an annoying blonde time-travelling archaeologist who jumps from spaceships and trusts that you will catch her. You don’t need any of that, thank you very much.

_And yet-_

It’s only this once. You’re going to help her just this once. You’re going to do it because she just put you in this situation and well, how could you refuse getting another look at the Weeping Angels?

It has nothing to do with the fact that River Song herself is mysterious and alluring, and that she seems to know and understand you better than you know yourself. Okay. Maybe you are a bit fascinated by her and maybe – just maybe – you want to find out what secrets she’s hiding under that razor sharp smile. This could be dangerous: her smile, her mystery, the flames in her eyes and you should turn away and run as far and as fast as you can. And you will do it, any time now. You need one more moment, one more conversation, one more look at her and then you are done.

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

___

_‘You. Me. Handcuffs. Must it always end this way?’_

She says it in a light and flippant tone. It’s a private joke for her – and who knows, maybe in future you’ll be let in on it as well.

But for now it brings up a different kind of memories for you: cold metal biting into your skin, her tear-filled eyes and hopeful words. Then – a flash of light, a scream of pain, smell of burning flesh and she was gone, gone, _gone_ -

She’s standing right now in front of you, looking fine and alive – so, so alive that it’s difficult to imagine that she may die one day.

At this very moment you hope that time can be re-written.

___

Everyone knows these stories: a naive man and a femme fatale who bends him to her will by just batting her eyelashes. A fleeting kiss is all it takes to charm him. Or there’s a sorceress with a poison in her touch – poison that clouds man’s judgement, leaves him baffled and powerless. This poison bounds him to her, makes him her servant, makes him long for her and crave her at all times.

But these are just stories. Lies. Fancy words put together to entertain and warn.

Nothing like that happens here.

First of all: you are not a naive man. You’re too old for that and you are not the one to fall for a pair of nice eyes or pouty lips.

Second: River Song is not a femme fatale. She very well could be one: she could turn any man’s head, she could charm them in a matter of seconds, she could bend the whole nations to her will – and all of that with her looks alone. But this is not who she is. No, her power is in something else entirely. (Although you are pretty sure that at some point in her life she played the role of a femme fatale and she did it flawlessly. You’re also pretty sure that she did it to rob a bank, steal a valuable painting or take over a planet. That would be so _her_.)

But the third and most important point is: she didn’t even have to touch you to bewitch you. There was no poison on her lips nor magic spell whispered under her breath. She didn’t touch you, you do not know what her lips taste like and yet you feel her buzzing under your skin. You can sense her in the back of your mind, constantly lingering somewhere in your head, swimming in the ocean of your neurons and moving from one synapse to another. You cannot get rid of her: she’s an itch you can’t soothe. You’re half-tempted to start scratching, just so see if that would help you to get rid of her.

But then again, you’re not quite sure you want to get rid of her.

___

She has always been a mystery, a box of _spoilers_ , a never ending list of questions: _Who are you? Why? When? What?_

_Who are you to me?_

Then Demons Run happens and among the pain and suffering and death, you find the answer to all these questions.

The answer is quite simple and rather obvious: she’s everything you ever wanted her to be, but never dared to hope that your wishes may come true.

___

This is the time when you don’t run away _from_ her, but when you run _with_ her. Hand in hand. You stir trouble and solve problems, you watch stars being born and planets dying. You dance at the edge of black holes, you bathe in nebulas, you chase meteoroids and catch starlight in your hands.

You are together.

You crown her with the brightest stars in the universe. You worship her with your words, your hands, your mouth.

You make sure that she knows that she’s loved by so many, and so much, but by no one more than you.

___

Your time is running out.

You know it.

It’s quite damn hilarious: you are a Time Lord and the only thing you lack is time. Time that you can spend with her.

Seconds run away and slip through your fingers, slick like mercury and weightless like sand. There’s nothing you can do to stop it: one day you will put on a new suit, you’ll have a new haircut and in your sweaty palm you’ll have a sonic screwdriver that you’ll have made for her. You’ll knock on her door, tell her to wear her favourite dress and take her to the one place she’s always wanted to go. The Towers will sing and you will cry. You will hold her one more time and then-

She’ll be dead and gone and gone and dead.

And you’ll be left alone.

But not yet.

_Not just_ _yet_.

___

She’s a supernova: outshining your life with her spirit and love, stunning you with her beauty and colours, illuminating the dark corners of your mind.

And just like a supernova, she’s fading over time.

Soon, she’ll fade away completely.

___

You wish you could’ve kept her. Run away with her. Lock her in the cage of your arms. Tie her up, chain her to you, lock her up in the deepest parts of your ship, put her in a safe like the most precious jewel in the universe. Hide her inside you, like your most vicious secret.

If you could, you would keep her on a shelf, behind glass. You would come and stare at her, spend hours on your knees at this altar: your own private goddess.

Your treasure, your hoard.

And then you remember: _she was not yours to keep_.

___

You should be used to it by now: everything changes. People come and leave, the grow up and mature. Civilisations fall down, planets explode and fall into oblivion.

One moment you have a family, the next second they’re gone.

You are a sad man with a box.

___

She’s everywhere.

You see her in every woman who passes you by, her voice rings in your ears. You smell her perfume in your bedroom. You find her hair on your jacket. Her touch and kisses wake you up from your nightmare-ridden dreams.

But it’s never her, it can’t be her.

She’s dead.

She’s a ghost who hunts you. Your bespoke demon. A soul you can’t erase and forget, a shadow that follows you everywhere you go-

You pray that she will never stop.

___

There’s time for everything. There’s a time to live and a time to sleep.

You finally let her sleep.


End file.
